He shrugs. “Not sure. I guess trying to meet this month’s quota of annoying you, plus I thought it would be nice to see my old friends Harper and Eve.”

I like Reid, but I don’t think I would consider him a friend, more like . . . well, Rogan’s annoying little brother.

“I could have done without the visit,” Eve says.

“Why? Because you don’t want me staring at your ass the whole time?”

“No, I don’t mind that, nor do I mind looking at you. But what I do mind is when you open your mouth.”

“Can’t help that, sweetheart.” He winks and downs the rest of his drink. Looks like it’s going to be a short night for Reid.

I turn back toward Rogan. “We know why Reid came here. Why did you?”

“Trying to catch a little bit more time with you. Wanted to see how day two was on the job.”

“Great but exhausting.”

“She was wearing the wrong shoes,” Eve cuts in.

Rogan glances down at my feet, which are now encased in plush moccasins; I couldn’t bear to put on anything else. “What were you wearing?”

“Heels.” I wince, my feet throbbing even thinking about it. “Huge mistake, but I have things all planned out for tomorrow. I’m borrowing Eve’s puffy vest.”

“God, I love a good puffy vest,” Reid says. “There’s nothing like warm goose down that doesn’t restrict your arms.”

“That’s what Eve said too.”

Reid lifts a curious brow in her direction. “Is that right? Look at us, a match made in heaven.”

“Get real, Reid. Just because you’re my twin brother’s best friend doesn’t mean we’re friends.” Eve’s twin brother, Eric, has been Reid’s best friend since grade school. They stirred up a lot of mischief around town when they were younger, always tormenting the elders . . . and Eve.

“Why not? You shared a womb, so you can share friends.”

Rogan tugs my arm and nods toward a quiet corner of the restaurant. Good idea. No one wants to hang out with Reid and Eve when they start bantering.

We find a little table off to the side near the fireplace. Rogan, like the gentleman he is, pulls out my chair for me and helps me sit down before taking the seat across from me.

He scratches the side of his jaw and studies me, a smile tugging on his lips.

“What?” I ask. “What’s that smile all about?”

“Just thinking about you in a giant puffy vest. I can’t picture it.”

“Well, you’ll see it tomorrow. Unless you can’t make it.”

“Nah, I’ll be there. The last two days have been busy for me, but the rest of my week should open up.”

It’s odd, seeing Rogan in the role of Mr. Businessman. I’ve known so many stages of Rogan’s life, but grown-up Rogan is different. I’ve always thought he was attractive, but this Rogan . . . he’s positively sexy with his five-o’clock shadow, fitted clothing, and contemporary hairstyle that my fingers are begging to run through. But beyond appearances, he’s carrying himself differently. More confident, more in control.

“What’s that look for?” he asks.

Not wanting to get into my thoughts, I say, “Tell me one thing you did when we weren’t together that you wish you could have called me to tell me about.”

“That’s easy. Two years after we broke up and I built up my strength and endurance in my leg, I ran a half marathon down in Connecticut.”

“A half marathon? That’s incredible.”

“When I finished, I collapsed a few feet away from the finish line and cried like a goddamn baby. Griffin was by my side the entire way while the rest of my family was on the sidelines. It was one of the only times my dad closed the Lobster Landing. Even though their support meant everything to me, there was a part of me that was missing. It was you. That night, I so desperately wanted to call you and tell you.”

“I wish you would have,” I say softly. “That’s so incredible. You must have been so proud of yourself.”

“I was. It was one of the few bright moments in my life over the last few years. I would like to say I’ve been a gold-star amputee, being positive, living life to the fullest, but I haven’t. It was hard to be positive when I drove away the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “What’s something you wish you could have called me about?”

“So many things.” My head whirls with memories I wish I could have captured with him. “I traveled up and down New England and ran into some interesting people . . . some strange ones too, but there was one person I met along the way that I truly wish I could have called you about.”

“Was it someone famous?”

I nod, slowly.

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yup. And he’s a favorite of yours.”

“Seriously? Athlete or celebrity?”

I wince. “Athlete.”

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m going to be green with jealousy, aren’t I?”

“You really are. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t. It might be best for the both of—”

“It was Jacob Damon,” I blurt out.

“What?” he shouts, eyes nearly popping out of his sockets. I can’t help but laugh. “No fucking way. You’re trying to hurt me right now, right? Please tell me you’re trying to hurt me.”

I shake my head and dig out my phone. It takes me a few seconds, but I find the picture and turn my phone toward Rogan; his eyes fixate on the screen. Jacob has his arm wrapped around me as we take a selfie on a hiking trail.

“What the hell?” He takes the phone and studies the photo. “Where are you?”

“I was hiking up in New Hampshire, and I happened to run into him. He was ahead of me, but I wound up catching up. I wanted to know who the giant sucking wind was.”

“He was sucking wind?”

“Big time.” We both chuckle. “I mean, he’d been retired for at least a few years at that point. His running back days were long gone.”

“I can’t believe you met him . . . and took a picture with him. Please . . . please just tell me you mentioned me. I know we were broken up at that point and you would have rather stuck a pencil up my pee hole than talk to me, but please say you mentioned me. I need to know that Jacob Damon at least knows my name.”

“I mentioned you.”

“Fuck.” Rogan leans against the wall next to us, his eyes closed, his hand scrubbing down his face. “Jacob Damon has heard my name. Christ, Harper, I could kiss you.”

He’s so adorable. “I knew you would appreciate that. It killed me not being able to rub it in your face. I was so freaking tempted to send you an email with just the picture in it.”

“God, if you did, that would have been the ultimate eff you. I would have applauded you. Probably would have driven to wherever you were just to give you a high five for spitefulness and then drive away.”

“You’ve always taken the mature route.”

He chuckles. “That’s me, Mr. Mature. God, I still can’t believe you met Jacob . . .” He pauses and sits up straight. “Wait, does that mean you got his autograph? Is it sitting in a box somewhere? Do you need help unpacking it?”

“Yeahhh,” I drag out. “I didn’t get an autograph.”

“What?” He practically leaps out of his chair. “How could you not have gotten an autograph?”

“We were hiking. I didn’t have a pen on me. Would you have wanted him to sign a napkin with his sweat?”

“Yes! Christ, Harper, yes! I would have taken a vial of his sweat and kept it on my nightstand.”

“Ehh . . . okay, that’s weird.”

He shakes his head. “No, what’s weird is you not asking for the sweat vial. I thought I taught you better—what happened to all those conversations we had in the manor? You know, when we talked about what we would do if we ever ran into one of our idols? Don’t you remember those?”

It was one of our favorite games. We’d choose a celebrity and then decide how we would approach them if we ever ran into them. The key to success when meeting a celebrity: not “fangirling” too much to scare them away but “fangirling” just enough to make them like you, then ask a few questions, and then the final ask: Give me something of yours.

The arguments and carefully curated questions we came up with for different celebrities were so on point that we knew if we ever met them, we would end up with some celebrity underwear. That was always the ultimate goal: snagging the undies.

“You can’t judge.” I shake my head, grinning. “When you’re put in the real-life situation, it’s different. I couldn’t ask for the undies; I could barely ask for a picture.”

Rogan waves his hand in dismissal. “You’re dead to me.”

“Oh please, as if you would have been able to act normal if you met him. Have you ever run into a celebrity?”

“No—”

“Exactly, so you have no room to talk. It’s completely different in person.”

“I still think you need to practice.”

“Fine.” I rub my hands together. “Want to go for another round?”

He points at the table. “Right here, right now?”

“Yeah. You scared?”